Sore Winner
by Mr Sympa
Summary: Challenging Arin to gay chicken is a shit-stupid idea. (Arin/Jon)


It wasn't that he had lost; it was that he had lost at fucking Soul Calibur. It was Smash Brothers all over again but worse. "I barely remember this game," Arin had said. Yeah, whatever. Jon's ass had gotten whipped. It wouldn't even be so bad if Arin didn't float around so damn _happily_ after.

He thought about a conversation that they had had earlier, making up his mind.

"Do people not understand personal space anymore?" Jon had complained, plopping onto the couch.

"Why, what happened?" asked Arin, busily putting game debris into piles in an effort to at least clear a path to the television.

"Oh, my god, dude. So I took the bus today to go get some stuff 'cause I didn't feel like driving or whatever and I wanted to play Fire Emblem. So I'm sitting there, and like, this guy sits next to me—whatever, fine, but then, he like, leans against me, looking over to like, look at my DS while I'm playing."

Arin looked over his shoulder. "Woah.."

"Right? I was like, '_excuse_ me?' I didn't say anything, but I moved over closer to the window, and like, brought it super close to my face. But even then, he was still like, right up against my leg. I was like, 'Jesus, can you fucking not? Do you not understand what I am trying to tell you?'"

"That really bothers you, right? People touching you?" Arin came over with the Gamecube controllers, tossing the white one to Jon.

"Yea—well, yeah! I mean, fuck, was there not enough room?"

Arin chuckled and turned on the TV. "You'd suck at gay chicken."

"What? Why—and what, you don't or something?" Jon laughed.

"Probably not. I've never done it, but I just don't care."

"Yeah, I know you don't."

"You know, you're not good at everything!" Jon pouted, some Grump adrenaline still fueling him.

Arin smirked. "Doesn't matter. I was good enough at this."

"Whatever! I'm actually good at that!"

"Oh, come on, you will all the fucking time," Arin replied, sitting back down, crossing his arms and raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but I'm seriously g—well, _supposedly_ good at this! Fuck it, you know what? I bet I'd kick your ass at gay chicken!"

"Wait, what?"

"You say you don't care, but you'd give up-"

"Jon," Arin laughed, "you would not win. And then you'd get all awkward and never speak to me again—" the airy tone in Arin's voice and his grinning face stung Jon.

"No, fuck you, I'm serious."

"Jon, why—"

"Because I was supposed to win."

"How were you 'supposed'—"

"I used to be really fucking good at that game! Like, actually!"

Arin smirked like a smug bastard, shrugging. "You're gonna fucking lose."

"No, seriously, let's go!" Jon stood and looked like a wrestler about to jump into the ring.

"Okay, fine," Arin said, standing. He was still grinning. "You ready?"

"Yes," spat Jon petulantly.

"Okay," shrugged Arin.

He took a step forward and, looking Jon dead in the eye, began to slowly move closer. Jon held his gaze and came forward, matching Arin's speed. The distance between them evaporated. Arin leaned forward, smirked, and raised his eyebrows. Jon panicked and winked in response. Arin let out a laugh and brought his face nose-to-nose with Jon's. In the few seconds' pause, Jon understood that the next move was his.

He took it. He closed his eyes and put his lips to Arin's. Jon felt a moment of triumph for accomplishing this much. That particular bubble burst instantly when Arin tilted his head and moved his lips against Jon's minutely. Jon nosedived directly into "oh, shit" territory as he realized that he was definitely in over his head. What the actual fuck had made him think that Arin would ever lose? He'd probably kissed more boys for the hell of it than every other guy Jon knew put together.

Pride and determination forced him to reciprocate. His heart was pounding, his mind was racing, and worse, he knew it was his move. Stepping just a bit closer, Jon put a hand softly on the back of Arin's neck. Arin leaned more into the kiss without any pressure from Jon's hand. Jon struggled to breathe and wondered if he should cut losses and stop now. The thought of what would happen after, and of the absence of whatever was going on kept him in place.

Arin parted his lips just a bit and moved against Jon's. Utterly without his consent, Jon found himself doing the same and wrapping his arms around Arin's neck, this time pulling him closer. They remained that way for a while before Arin pulled away to kiss at Jon's neck. Jon took the opportunity to breathe heavily.

"Jon?" Arin murmured, voice deep.

Jon shivered. "What?" It pissed him off that his voice squeaked.

"Nothing," Arin said against his skin. "Just seeing something."

Jon wound his fingers into Arin's hair, holding his head. "What?"

"Nothing," Arin repeated. Jon could hear that note of smugness.

"What?" Jon asked again, annoyed, but still holding him.

"It's nothing," Arin laughed softly, switching sides and adding tongue and teeth to Jon's as-of-yet untouched skin.

"Oh, fuck," Jon moaned softly. He collected his annoyance. "Then shut up."

"What, Jon?" Arin murmured directly into his ear. Jon bit his lip and closed his eyes.

"If you're not going to tell me then shut up." Jon's resolution was obviously nonexistent, but Arin pretended anyway.

"You want me to stop talking?" Arin intoned into his other ear, switching to bite and lick at that side again, biting sharply once.

Jon gasped and pushed into him. 'God, how can you be this obnoxious?' he thought. He added that Arin can add "Seductive as Fuck" to repertoire as an actor.

Opening his eyes, Jon realized that Arin was leaving himself rather open in this position. Jon moved forward a mere few inches and planted his mouth firmly onto Arin's skin, returning the sharp bite. Arin froze and gasped in a breath, taken completely off-guard. Jon seized the opportunity and moved on to Arin's throat, licking up toward his chin and making sure to give attention to his Adam's apple. He could feel the vibration as Arin moaned quietly and tilted his head back to allow him access. Jon took it happily, assaulting Arin's neck and moving up to his jaw.

"Arin," Jon growled lowly, making his voice a declaration of need.

"Unnnnnhh," replied Arin, now running the palm of his hand down Jon's chest. And further.

It was then that Jon realized how fucking hard he had become, which was weird, because he'd have thought he would have noticed by now, but then Arin grabbed him though the fabric and the thinking stopped.

"Haaaahh," Jon let out, trying to thrust against Arin's hand.

Arin must have realized that if anything more productive were to happen, he would have to do it; he sat in the middle of the couch and guided Jon onto his lap, facing him.

"Wha—what are you doing?"  
"Come forward," Arin instructed, pulling him.

Unthinkingly, Jon obeyed and slid toward Arin. Jon spread his legs to get more leverage, and just as he had done so, his raging erection had finally found Arin's.

"Oh, FUCK," yelled Jon as Arin moaned wordlessly. Jon immediately began to move against him, running on arousal and instinct, desperate to continue the amazing pleasure he was being granted.

Arin's hands came between them, and Jon moaned high and loudly as Arin rubbed against him from above and below.  
"Jon, wait, stop for a sec," Arin panted.  
"Grrrrrrrrngh!" Jon responded, not stopping.

Arin forced Jon's hips still.

"NNNNNNNUH, WHYYYYY," cried Jon, clinging onto Arin's shoulders.

"Trust me," Arin said breathily, working as quickly as he could to unzip and free the both of them.

Jon nearly screamed at Arin's touch on his bare cock, and let out a shrill stream of "OH FUCK"s as Arin stroked the two of them together in both hands.  
"Fuck, Arin; fuck, Arin; FUCK, Arin!" Jon moaned loudly in time with his thrusting, gripping the back of the couch.

"Jesus Christ, Jon," said Arin, eyes closed, hips bucking. "Fuck, yessss."

Jon was finally able to open his eyes. He looked down at Arin, who was gazing at him in intense pleasure, his head back, eyes partially closed.  
"Oh, fuck, dude," Jon panted. "You look so fucking incredible right now."

"You're so fuckable," Arin replied lustily. Jon was surprised to find that that remark had a pronounced effect on his arousal.  
He had to catch his breath before asking, "Am I?"

"Fuck, Jon, I just want to get you on this couch and go balls-deep and fuck you so hard." Arin looked up at him from heavily-lidded eyes, and was absolutely dead serious. Arin's hands sped up as did his thrusting.  
Jon was running a dangerous risk of losing it completely. He decided to worsen his chances.

He twined his hands into Arin's hair again, holding his head. He brought his face down to his and said, "Arin, I want you to fuck me."

Arin moaned, his eyes sliding shut. "Jon—" He choked out, hands stroking rapidly.

"Arin," Jon moaned brokenly. "You need to fuck me—"

"Fuck, Jon!" Arin gasped.

"Arin, come inside me!" Jon yelled, sending himself over the edge, moaning unevenly and holding tightly onto Arin as waves of pleasure crashed through him.

"JESUS!" Arin gasped, head completely back, back arching, mouth open as he reached his own climax, the both of them pulsing and thrusting and shuddering.

Mouth open and panting for breath, Arin let his hands fall to the sides. Jon slumped forward limply, wrapping his arms loosely around Arin's neck, eyes closed. Arin adjusted to give himself a way to breathe and leaned against Jon. They both sat there just breathing for several minutes: Jon wrapped around and on top of Arin, and Arin sitting with his arms at his sides.

Finally, Arin adjusted again, but only to wrap his arms around Jon. Jon snuggled in and nuzzled his neck.  
"You're a cuddler, aren't you?" muttered Arin.

"What about me says that I wouldn't be?" slurred Jon.

Arin snorted, smiling. He held Jon in silence for another few moments.

"I win."

"What? How?"

"Because I," said Arin slowly, "won at Soul Calibur."

Jon took a deep breath and let it out quickly before taking in another deep breath and yelling "FUCK YO—"

/End


End file.
